


Can't Feel Nothing Small

by perfectlystill



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Lack of Communication, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:14:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29882355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectlystill/pseuds/perfectlystill
Summary: Betty learns two things sophomore year: Archie loves Veronica, and Archie doesn’t like Betty.Or, Betty's third rail.
Relationships: Archie Andrews/Betty Cooper
Comments: 40
Kudos: 143





	Can't Feel Nothing Small

**Author's Note:**

> Title from The Lumineers' "Ophelia," which is Funny™ to me for Reasons.

And you love Veronica, don't you?   
RIVERADLE 4x18: LYNCHIAN

Betty learns two things sophomore year: Archie loves Veronica, and Archie doesn’t like Betty. 

It’s a surprise.

Curtains flung open, covers pulled violently from her body, harsh light and freezing cold shock. 

Looking back, Betty doesn’t know why she allowed her childish, fairytale fantasy to root itself inside her heart, sprouting branches until a confession spilled out of her mouth like a blooming bud in spring, followed by a question she already had the answer to. She usually wakes up much faster than that, but she needed to know, in no uncertain terms: 

Friends. 

_Just_ friends. 

_Best_ friends.

Archie’s thigh presses against Betty’s in the booth, and their elbows brush whenever he reaches over to grab a fry from the communal basket. Betty is aware of these things in the same way she knows how much her tip will be (three dollars) and how long it will take to walk home (17 minutes). There was a time when the heat of him next to her would make it difficult to concentrate, when she’d spend an hour on the phone with Kevin, dissecting and giggling, twirling the line around her finger.

Now, she knows it’s happening, but she also knows it doesn’t mean anything. 

She’s gotten off on his thigh, and when his hand settles on her knee, giving it a squeeze, it doesn’t remind her of the kiss Archie placed against a fading scar as he crawled up her body. 

“I should get back to work,” Jughead says, nodding toward Tabitha behind the counter. “And you should probably leave so I can get another table.”

Archie laughs. “Alright, we get it. We’re not wanted here.” 

“I should help my mom with the twins, anyway,” Betty says, stirring the straw around her milkshake. 

“I’ll walk you.” Archie smiles, soft and small.

Betty mirrors it. “Okay.”

His hand falls from her knee as Jughead gets up and begins gathering their plates.

Archie’s house is charred, burnt around the edges. The porch is completely gone, and the smell of smoke still lingers in the air like a spritz of perfume. 

He’s back at the El Royale, refusing to take Betty and Alice up on their offer to stay in Polly’s room. Betty recognizes it as a kindness he’s giving them, the chance to believe Polly might still randomly show up one night, safe and sound. 

Loitering between their houses, Betty laughs, thumb pointing over her shoulder. “I really should…”

“Yeah.”

Archie looks at her and that feeling she feels whenever she’s with him pulses like a jolt of electricity. The feeling has been a constant part of her life as far back as she can remember, and it’s never gone away. Betty doesn’t quite know what to do with it now, because it’s not a stagnant thing, molded by her reactions to it more than the feeling itself. It’s been a simple, unconscious part of her, easy as breathing. It’s been wonderful, warm and sweet like honey, and sometimes it’s been sharp, a painful pinch in her gut. 

The feeling tumbles, fluttering around, and her gaze shifts to his mouth. Archie reaches for her and Betty stumbles closer, tilting her head to meet him halfway, a sweet, salty, strawberry kiss. 

“I’ll see you later,” Betty says, kissing him one more time.

His mouth curves against hers, his laugh low. “I can walk you to your front door.”

“A real gentleman.” She bites her bottom lip to tame her grin.

Betty twists her fingers in Archie’s hair and tugs. He groans against her clavicle, mouth hot and wet. She wonders, fleetingly, if there will be a mark, a purple and red bruise mottling her skin, but the thought fades as Archie grabs her thigh and hitches her leg higher. Betty anchors her heel against his calf. His hand is rough, calloused and strong, and it feels good. It feels good when he cups her breast, swiping his thumb across her nipple, feels good when he splays his palm against the small of her back, pressing her against him as he whispers all the things he wants to do to her, feels good when he has two fingers inside her and a thumb drawing circles against her clit, her mind snapping when she comes, sparks bursting beneath her skin. 

Betty’s mind blanks when Archie enters her, his teeth scraping against her jaw, a moan that feels foreign ghosting across his cheek but she knows, in some way, through the gauze of pleasure, belongs to her. Her fingers dig into his back, connecting her to something tangible. 

Archie doesn’t play fair, not when they both know her third orgasm is within reach. Betty does her best to meet his thrusts, body moving almost of its own accord. His voice hoarse in her ear, saying, “You feel so good.”

She exhales something approximating language. 

He chuckles, deep and low. “How do I feel?”

Betty bites her lip, shaking her head and trying to concentrate. She’s stretched and full and hot all over, light-headed and tingly. She feels amazing. _He_ feels amazing.

“Betty,” he says, and something about Archie’s voice like this gets her even closer, a pleasant, soothing fog coating her brain. “How does it feel?”

“Mean,” she manages, hand in his hair again, tugging in a way that catches him off-guard. “You’re mean.”

“Just checking that you’re having a good time,” he says. “And I’m mean?”

“Arch.” She yanks his hair, trapping his bottom lip between her teeth. He counters with a hand around her throat, a gentle pressure against the sides. “Feel good.”

His hand finds her clit again, and it’s too much, but a good too much. Betty’s too warm, and her eyes slip closed, the warm wave of another orgasm cresting through her, toes curling against Archie’s calf, fingers knotting in his hair and her bedsheets. It seems to last forever, suspended from time and place, her heart racing and her body heavy. 

Archie comes with her name in his mouth, cracked in half. He brushes a piece of hair off her forehead, a kiss pressed as delicate as a snowflake to her temple. 

Turning her head, she watches him breathe, hand splayed across his chest.

“Wow,” Betty says. “I think that was one of our best.”

Archie rolls over and props himself up on his elbow, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Top three, but it doesn’t beat El Royale round one.”

Betty tamps down her smile. “I won that match.”

“You won today, too.” Archie brushes his knuckles against the curve of her shoulder. “You always win.”

“I do, don’t I?” She squints, smile breaking through. Archie nudges her shoulder, and Betty giggles. “Did you want lunch? My mom shouldn’t be back with the twins until tonight. We could take their juice boxes. She’s still buying the same kind.”

“The grape?”

Betty nods.

“I can probably stay for a juice box,” Archie starts, turning his head to look at the clock. “But I have to meet Veronica for lunch.”

“Oh.” Betty swallows, blinks. 

“We have to go over some of the adjustments we made to her renovations.”

Betty feels a little shaky when she sits up, looking for her discarded underwear. “Right, yeah, of course.”

“You can come if you want. We’re meeting at Pop’s.”

Her feet hit the ground with a hard thud, and she looks over her shoulder, smiling small. “No, thanks. I should get some stuff done here.”

There’s hesitation in the wrinkle of Archie’s brow, but it clears easy enough, almost like nothing, and he nods. “That’s a good choice. Load-bearing walls and different white paint samples? Not fun.”

Betty’s cold out of bed, unsteady like a newborn calf, endorphins gone. Sliding her underwear up her legs, she glances at Archie, who’s following her lead and gathering his clothes from her bedroom floor. Her stomach turns, vague hunger from earlier dissipating. She slips her bra straps over her shoulders. “What’s the third one?”

“What?” Archie asks, abs disappearing beneath his shirt. A real shame. 

“El Royale round one, childhood bedroom brunch, and…?” 

His gaze drifts to her mouth, eyes dark before meeting hers again. A shiver down her spine. “Whyte Wyrm bathroom.”

“Oh,” Betty exhales, heat blooming in her face again, a throb of desire between her legs like an aftershock. _Yeah_ , that’s number one.

When Betty realizes she’ll be in Riverdale longer than a weekend, she tries to work out a time to head back to Virginia and retrieve Toffee. Glen insists he’s heading to New York City, and Riverdale isn’t really out of the way, and he likes exploring new places. 

She’s unconvinced, but acquiesces. She doesn’t want to be on the road if something breaks with Polly’s case. 

Glen shows up Saturday afternoon. Juniper and Dagwood immediately follow Toffee around the house, and Alice offers a cup of coffee. 

“Coffee would be great,” Glen says, and Betty bites the inside of her cheek.

It’s weird having him in her childhood home. He doesn’t belong here -- in Riverdale, in this part of her life, sitting at the table across from her mother and answering questions about Betty’s training. 

“She’s smart,” Glen says, eyes flashing to Betty. “But sometimes she lacks impulse control.”

“I don’t,” she counters, harsh and clipped. He laughs, heat behind his gaze, and Betty grinds her teeth.

Alice clears her throat. “How long are you staying in Riverdale? Are you here to help with Polly?”

“He has to get back to Quantico,” Betty says. 

Glen looks at her, mouth twitching into a frown, and Betty is struck by how much she doesn’t like him. He’s fine, really, and they had their fun, but that’s all it was, an available body for stress relief. She does have things to do (shave her legs, plan a lesson, stakeout the lonely highway with Kevin), but her excuse about being too busy to show him around town curls against her tongue like the lie it is.

“I’ll see you soon,” he says, serious and meaningful, coat back on but unzipped as he stands in her foyer.

“I should be back after the holidays.”

Glen shifts on his feet, leaning in, and Betty turns her head so his mouth only grazes the corner of hers. 

“Drive safe,” she says, worrying her hands in front of her body.

He looks back at her as she’s shutting the door, and Betty relaxes, relieved, as she turns the lock. For a moment, only a moment, she thinks about Archie, the warmth that’s been stuck to her ribs since she was little, friendship, and then a crush, and now desire.

Betty doesn’t let herself wonder if it’s something else entirely.

Betty loops the plastic bags filled with teaching supplies around her arms as she walks back to her car. She passes Veronica’s jewelry store, the grand opening set for next weekend, a tasteful sign informing the public. Looking in the window idly, she spots Archie on one side of the counter, Veronica on the other. 

Betty takes a step closer, bags rustling in the wind. 

There are still some tarps spread around, blocks of wood, a nail gun plugged into an outlet. 

Veronica pulls something out of the big glass case next to the register. Archie leans down to look at it, looks up at her with a smile playing around his mouth, body weight resting heavy against the counter and leaning toward her. A flirty stance. Betty can’t make out anything concrete from here, can’t tell if their fingers brush as Veronica hands Archie a necklace, can’t tell if Archie’s eyes are soft and loving, doesn’t know if he’s picking Veronica’s brain about what Veronica might like.

Readjusting her bags, Betty attempts to blow an errant strand of hair out of her face (it doesn’t work) and continues to her car. 

She replays the scene as she drives home: did Veronica tuck a strand of hair behind her ear? Did Archie laugh, eyes crinkling around the corners? She can picture them hugging goodbye, a tender, lingering sort of thing.

Betty slams the car door shut, fumbling with her bags, deciding not to think about it any more. It was nothing, really, and she has no reason to be upset, so she isn’t. Easy.

“I didn’t know you had a cat,” Archie says before taking a pull of beer. He leans back in his chair, the dim light of his El Royale office playing off his face so he looks like an Old Hollywood leading man. 

“I never lived alone before,” she says, running her thumb over the loose corner of her bottle’s label. “I needed some company, I guess.”

“The silence can be nice.”

Betty nods.

“Or lonely.”

She chews at the corner of her mouth, wanting to tell him she bought Toffee after being trapped by the trash bag killer. She wants to tell him, but even more, she wants to have nothing to tell. No awful mission gone wrong, no mistakes, no fault in what happened to her. “Well, I did have Glen.”

Archie furrows his brow. “Glen?”

“Yeah.” She sips her beer. She doesn’t really like it, but she took one instead of taking Archie up on his offer to buy her something else. She’s here after ten for one reason, and it isn’t to go to the grocery store. “We work together. We…” Betty motions between them. “Had a similar arrangement.”

“Oh.” Archie presses his mouth flat, eyes searching her face, and something sparks in Betty’s gut. 

She shrugs. “Yeah. Glen was watching Toffee for me, but he’s back in Virginia now.”

“Do you miss him?”

She scoffs. “No. There’s nothing to miss.”

Archie swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. He looks at her with burning eyes, and it almost makes Betty think this is something other than what it is. Setting his beer on the desk with a thump, Archie stands and rests his hands on the arms of her chair, leaning over her and crowding her space. 

“And me?” he asks, prying her almost-full beer from her hand, nose bumping gently against hers. 

“You’re right here.”

The space between Archie haphazardly reaching behind him to place her beer on his desk and leaning in to kiss her stretches long, filled by the loud, erratic beating of Betty’s heart. She feels her next breath trapped in her lungs, a visceral pain poking at her ribs, but she waits, resists the urge to spring forward and capture his mouth, to open him up and slip inside. 

Betty waits, eyes half-lidded, looking at his mouth because she’s afraid to look anywhere else. Archie whispers, “‘m right here,” cradling her jaw in his palm and tilting her head up, eyes swimming with so much Betty can’t process any of it.

And then he kisses her. Slow and deep. Betty’s head spins, dizzy, and whatever this is, she can’t have it. She grips his biceps and bites his lip, thinks about drawing blood. Betty turns it rough, gets Archie underneath her and regains control.

Happy Hour is Thursday night at the Whyte Wyrm. Betty nurses a gin and tonic, half-listening as Kevin tells a story about his biology class. She registers the soft, kind laughs around the table, his chagrined smile as he shakes his head, finishing the last of his drink. 

“I actually have some news,” Veronica says. She sits up a little straighter, squaring her shoulders. A hint of nervousness dances around her eyes even while she fawns under everyone’s attention. “I’m getting divorced.”

Betty keeps her face neutral, turning her head slightly to catch sight of Veronica across the table. If she feels conflicted or guilty, it doesn’t show. The corners of her mouth pull up.

“Is this… a good thing?” Kevin asks. 

Veronica smiles and nods. “More than good. Chadwick and I weren’t… compatible, to say the least.”

“If you’re happy, I’m really happy for you, Ronnie,” Archie says. He smiles at her, genuine and warm, lifting his beer in a toast. 

“Thanks, Archie.” She smiles back, eyes bright. 

When Archie and Chad met it was tense, veering toward uncomfortable in a way nobody else seemed to notice but Betty couldn’t _not_ see. Archie was suspicious, protective of Veronica, and Betty hadn’t been surprised. Archie cares about Veronica. He always has, and he always will. Whatever he felt, it settled at karaoke when he saw how happy she and Chad were. But apparently, they weren’t.

“Next round’s on me. To celebrate,” Archie says. 

“She’s single and ready to mingle!” Kevin hollers, grabbing Veronica's arm and waving it in the air. 

Veronica laughs, a tinkling, delighted, embarrassed sound, and Archie laughs, too.

Betty forces a smile, tilting her drink toward Veronica before downing it. She stays for the celebratory shots before excusing herself, saying her mom will worry if she’s not home soon, that she promised she’d help clean up the kitchen. 

“Do you want me to walk you?” Archie asks. The repairs on his house are finished, and he and Jughead have moved back in. 

“No.” Betty shakes her head. “You should stay.”

“I’m kind of beat myself, actually.”

“Stay.” She shoves his shoulder. “Have fun.”

“Betty…” Concern etches itself around his eyes, mouth pressed thin and twisting into a small frown. “With everything that’s been going on, it might be best to use the buddy system after dark.”

“I’ll be fine. FBI agent, remember?”

He looks unconvinced, but Betty stares him down, unwavering, and he relents: “Text me when you get home.”

The night of the Black Hood, Betty really thinks she might die. Archie grabs her hands and holds on tight, a grounding force in the darkness. He says he needs her, and Betty’s stomach flutters, unable to avoid equating need with love. 

She kisses him, hesitant and soft, and he kisses back just the same. Her breath catches in her lungs, and she feels everything she’s always felt with Archie, an unbreakable string tying them together. 

It’s almost something. 

But it isn’t. 

He says her name, and Betty knows it isn’t anything but a remembered dream. He’s still in love with Veronica, and he still doesn’t love her, and it was silly to think he’d even want her. 

He doesn’t. 

And by Christmas afternoon, Betty has an excited text from Veronica telling her she and Archie are, once again and always, soulmates. 

The slap of rejection stings less this time.

Betty and Alice spent hours at the police station trying to sort out a potential new lead about where Polly and the missing girls could be, coming up empty. In the tired haze of the witching hour, Betty sent Archie a text telling him it was futile, another dead end. She won’t give up. Not on those girls, and not on her sister, but exhaustion is embedded into her bones. 

“Miss Cooper,” Archie says, finding her in auto shop before school starts. 

“Hey.” She grabs the drink he offers her, heat still radiating through the cup. “What’s this for?”

“You had a long night.”

“I did. Thanks.” She smells the coffee before taking a sip. It’s hot, sugary and sweet. She’s gotten used to taking it black, but this is how she really likes it: vanilla and honey and too much steamed cream. 

“How are you doing?” he asks.

Betty shrugs. “I’m okay. It’s just hard, you know? It feels like we keep finding something, but it’s actually just a whole bunch of nothing.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Not right now. This,” she says, gesturing to the coffee, “is perfect, though.”

“Okay. Good.” Archie nods, looking around the empty space before taking a step forward and sweeping his knuckles down her arm. “If you need anything, you know I’m here, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” 

He looks at her with so much care she doesn’t even need the coffee to warm her up. The pad of Archie’s thumb against her elbow is its own caffeine boost. Betty has to remind herself that this is just who he is, it’s why she’s always been proud to call him her best friend. He cares about people, and he cares about her. Bad things happen when she overthinks it. 

“I know you are.”

Archie’s fingers dance along her skin, and he smiles small, offering a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “I can take you to lunch and we can talk about it, if you want.” 

She bites her lip.

“Or not talk about it. Whatever you want.”

“Lunch sounds nice,” Betty says. 

“Cool. I have a meeting with the football team in a few minutes, but I’ll see you then.”

“See you then.”

Archie’s smile blooms, and he checks they’re alone again before pressing an easy kiss against her mouth, lingering so she feels the curve of his smile. 

When he leaves, Betty’s left with the sparks of his kiss, an excited knot in her stomach, and a creeping feeling that she’s in over her head.

Archie and Veronica huddle in the corner of the teacher’s lounge. Veronica touches his arm and doesn’t pull back. Archie shakes his head, some kind of joy lighting up his face. 

Betty walks to the coffee pot, grabbing a mug and deliberately ignoring the excited timbre of Veronica’s voice. She watches the coffee stream as she pours, petty annoyance itching at the back of her skull. 

An inevitable feeling. An inevitable outcome. 

Betty looks up, sees Archie’s hand brushing down Veronica’s arm, and rushes to put the pot back on the warmer and leave. She doesn't need to stay; this is a story that ends the same way every time. 

She doesn’t know why it’s squeezing her heart. She feels really stupid. Younger than she is.

“Betty!” Archie calls. 

She slows and looks back. 

Archie’s rushing toward her, stumbling around one of the tables. “Hey, what’s up?”

“I have to get ready for my next class.”

She doesn’t. The kids are working on the car, and Betty knows what they’re meant to do like the back of her hand, able to offer minor assistance whenever they need it. 

Archie stops in front of her, and Betty looks over his shoulder at Veronica, who smiles and waves. Archie’s eyes dart around Betty's face. “Are you okay?”

Steeling herself, she inhales. The corner of her mouth tilts up to sell the charade. “Yeah. I’m good. The kids have just been little assholes today.”

He laughs under his breath and rubs at the nape of his neck. “Teenagers, huh? We weren’t this bad then, were we?”

She hums. “I don’t know. I think we might have been worse.”

“I can see that,” he agrees. From the way he’s looking at her, mouth slanted, she can tell he has something he wants to say, but Betty doesn’t want to hear it. 

“I really have to go,” she says.

“I’ll see you later?” he asks, shifting his weight on his feet, an anxious energy radiating from him. 

Betty looks at Veronica again. 

“Yeah. Sure.”

It’s different. 

Archie’s hands on her are careful, a brush painting across canvas, the open-mouthed kisses he scatters on her chest, the valley between her breasts, her stomach, the way he traps her wrists by her head giving way to the lacing of their fingers. 

It’s different, slow and heavy.

“Betty,” he says, squeezing her hands, and it feels reverent, like some kind of prayer. Except she can’t tell if it’s his or her own. 

He pushes into her, and Betty’s already so worked up her eyes roll back. He kisses her jaw, her cheek, the spot between her eyebrows.

“Look at me,” he says. 

She does. 

It’s a mistake.

It’s too much. 

She’s 25, and she’s an adult, and she can have really great, casual sex with her best friend without it being a big deal. But she’s also 18, and they’re sneaking away to hold hands and contemplate a future that hurts one way or another, a new pain crawling inside her chest. She’s 15, and she’s so in love with her best friend it feels like the world is going to end. 

The thing about the past is that it doesn’t disappear simply because you move into the present.

Betty is 25, and she’s sleeping with her best friend, and she’s painfully in love with him: heart-skipping, stomach-fluttering, toe-curlingly in love. 

And if the past has proven anything, it’s that Archie doesn’t love her. 

Not the same way.

Betty zips and buttons her jeans, turning to look for her sweater.

She’s embarrassed. About the way she feels, about the tear that leaked out when it was over. She batted it away as quickly as possible, but she knows Archie saw, kissing the salty trail it left down her temple. 

She spots her sweater, slipping it over her head and tugging at the hem to smooth it out.

“Betty,” Archie says, soft and tentative. He clears his throat. “I think we should talk.”

Right.

Yeah.

Of course. 

“We need to stop,” she says. 

His eyebrows furrow, and he frowns, and then he asks, “What?”

Betty swallows and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear.

Veronica’s divorce will be finalized this weekend, and Betty knows where this is going, so she’s going to save herself from any additional heartache. 

“This was fun. But I don’t want either of us to be held back from having something,” she pauses, throat dry, and looks toward the framed picture of the two of them Archie has on his desk. “Something real.”

“Something real?” Archie repeats slowly, confusion coloring the words. 

“Yeah.” Betty smiles despite the overwhelming urge to cry. “This was fun, but we’re friends, you know? Just… Just friends.”

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks.

“No, you were great.” 

“You just don’t want this anymore?”

“It’s not fair to you,” she says. 

She doesn't want to wait for Archie to become too busy to meet up, to be too tired to sneak out just before midnight and fuck her wherever they can find a quiet, secluded spot, to tell her he’s getting back together with Veronica and that he will always be Betty’s friend -- her best friend. 

“Right.” Archie nods, wringing his hands and looking away. “Do you want me to walk you out?”

Betty quirks an eyebrow. “I think I know the way.” 

If she doesn’t leave soon, she’s going to burst into tears. She thinks she sees some wetness gathering in Archie’s eyes, too, but it’s probably just the light or wishful thinking or god forbid, her own. “I’ll see you at school,” Betty says, laughing softly to lighten the pressure in her chest. 

It makes it worse. 

Archie runs a hand through his hair, something akin to sadness clouding his face. But he’ll be fine. He’ll have the girl he loves soon, and sleeping with Betty will be a funny story he’ll tell Veronica about, complete with all the fond affection of loving Betty but not being in love with her.

“See you at school,” he says.

Betty closes the bedroom door behind her. 

She tiptoes down the stairs even though nobody else is home, and she walks toward her house with even, slow steps, wiping at the tears that fall. Betty inhales the crisp winter air and lets it clear out her lungs. She’ll be okay, too. She’s been here before. 

Maybe Glen, and the FBI, and her therapist were right, maybe she does have poor impulse control, but she’s developed one hell of a self-preservation instinct.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comment and kudos always appreciated, and feel free to find me being an absolute clown on [Twitter.](https://twitter.com/dkaluuyaegot)


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